


viridity

by orphan_account



Series: vocabulary [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Pedophilia, Pseudo-Incest, Step-Sibling Incest, Underage Sex, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 23:21:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8553610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: vi·ri·di·ty(n) naïve innocence.   John is like a porcelain doll, all little and brittle and precious. Half of you wants to preserve him up on a shelf. The other half of you wants to break his precious face to pieces.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gannonic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gannonic/gifts).



> wow so. im fucked up. 
> 
> i'm an awful person for writing this but buddy if you're reading this we're in the same boat. pack your bags we're going to hell together.

You’re nine years old when your Bro marries the man who smells like vanilla and sugar and calls you ‘sport’ and drives a white SUV. He has a son, and you could probably spend hours looking at him. You think he’s perfect. He’s only four years old and he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on. He has black hair and pretty blue eyes and he’s a little chubby but he’s still kind of a toddler so it’s okay. He calls you ‘Davey’ and you think it strikes a chord in your heart somewhere. You feel lightheaded around him. You feel like you’re going to hurt him. He is so small.

  
Sometimes you feel the urge to hurt him. It starts in the back of your head and slowly blurs your vision a little. You find yourself holding onto him, squeezing him, on the verge of doing something to him. You can only see red and yourself shoving him into the wall, kicking him to the ground, snapping his neck or pounding his skull into the kitchen tile. But then he’ll start crying because your nails are digging into his upper arms and you let go because his tears bring you back. They scare you because you can see in his eyes that when you do that you’re scaring him. You don’t want to scare John. You love John.

  
You like watching John. You’ll watch movies with him just to let him fall asleep and just stare at him on your lap. His hair is soft and he is warm. He drools but you do not mind. If he wakes up you just hold him to you even if he fusses. You’re very good at watching and keeping quiet. It’s easier than saying anything to you, in that respect you fancy yourself very mature. It’s part of why your Bro regards you with a cautious coolness, unguarded around you because he knows you’re not a snitch. Sometimes you feel as if you should tell John’s dad about the high school boy who babysits you and John and stays for too long, sometimes. Stays even after Bro gets home. But you do not say anything about the creaking of the bed or the messiness of the high school boy’s hair or how anxious his movements look, how he has those bulky glasses. You say nothing to John’s father of this, and you’re the only one who has the means to because John doesn’t understand and Bro doesn’t want him to know. You don’t quite feel bad for John’s dad because he should have expected as much, but you cannot risk losing John.

  
When you go into middle school, John starts to look up to you a lot more, the high school boy is supposed to be in college but he’s working with Bro and his cameras instead and you think, well, that’s just fine. Your friends come over to your house and John wants to hang out with you but you have to blow him off because you have _friends_ now and they won’t want to hang out with a little kid.

  
When they leave you do spend time with John, though, and he makes you feel some type of way. He’s seven years old now but he stills likes sitting on your lap and sometimes you have to ask him to get off because of some pretty fucked up reasons. He’s your brother. You shouldn’t like your little brother sitting on your lap so much, but you do, and you don’t ever try to stop him. He’s so innocent and untouched, virginal and pure, and you torture yourself in trying to leave him alone. It’s torture because you want to remain this innocent and you also want to corrupt him so badly, and then you get those urges again, to ram him into the wall and make him cry. Cry your name and he cries so good, you know, you’ve heard it for so long. You want to fuck him until he’s got nothing on his mind but you and then you want to break him until there is no mind of his at all.

  
It is gross and wrong and you cannot seem to care, after a while, because you work up some balls and wait until your Bro is out with his assistant and John’s dad picks up a late shift and he’s there, alone. You canceled on your friends just to hold your baby brother in your lap and take off his clothes and feel him, soft and pliant, beneath your touch. When you kiss him it is sloppy. When you touch him it’s all mewls and high whines. It is the best feeling you’ve ever experienced to have him _shaking_ under your touch. You have never been so powerful before.

  
You crave that power like it’s a drug. Sometimes you will sit John down and tell him bullshit. You force him to rely on you. You will pick out his outfits, feed him, shower with him, speak for him, think for him. You will do all of this for him, isn’t that nice of you? And John will nod, all doe-eyed, and he’ll thank you and say that’s awful sweet.

  
You try not to get mad at him but when he refuses you it pushes a button in you that makes you feel that power decrease. It ruins the illusion that he has a complete dependency on you, and that is what you want. He should not need, want, think of anyone but you. You are the only person he needs. So sometimes you’ll lose your cool, wrap your fingers around his throat, grip his arm too-tight, dig your nails into his legs or just squeeze him until he’s got bruise-marks. Your Bro does not question these because he has given some to John himself. John’s dad does not question these because he gets them from Bro, too. You like hearing him cry. Once it horrified you but now it dignifies you, shows you how weak and needy John is and that is all you need to keep trying to make him yours.

  
And when he apologizes, you’ll hold out your arms and he hugs you like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to. You’ll pet his hair and call him a good boy, _your good boy_ , that it was okay and you knew he wouldn’t do it again and he would nod and cry into your shirt, sniffling and grabbing handfuls of the fabric.

  
John is like a porcelain doll, all little and brittle and precious. Half of you wants to preserve him up on a shelf. The other half of you wants to break his precious face to pieces just to feel the satisfaction of hearing bones break and him scream. Your intrusive thoughts want you to string him up, disembowel him, whip him and chain him and bind him and make him cry and scream pretty sounds until his little voice is hoarse and you can choke him even more, let yourself be rough, make him gag and sob and just _take it._

  
But you don’t do that.

  
You’re fourteen years old and John is eating out of the palm of your hand. You decide you’ll keep him as your pet as long as you can, and if he tries to run away, that’s when you’ll really break him.

**Author's Note:**

> [here's my personal blog.](http://luciferslittlekitten.tumblr.com/)   
>  [here's my writing blog.](http://gods--among--us.tumblr.com/)   
> 


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